The morning radio, which is my alarm, awakes me from my dream. My eyes snap open and while I remember the details of that dream, the radio blares in the background.
“Good morning, Brisbane and today it looks like it’s going to be a drizzly day with storms and rain throughout the whole day…”
My hair brushes over my shoulder as I shift positions and I remember the pain I had felt. I throw back the doona covers and race towards my en-suite. My pale reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at me; green eyes wide, pale skin pasty and covered in sweat, brown-reddish hair clinging to my skin from perspiration. Pushing the sleeve of my camisole back from my shoulder, I peer at the milky coloured skin there that is clear of teeth marks and ugly scars, save for the light sprinkle of freckles.
I close my eyes and breathe in relief, recalling the feel of the beast’s sharp teeth sinking into my flesh. Behind my closed eyelids, I see a flash of colour; chocolate brown and then it is his eyes, the boy’s. But who is he? In my dream it felt as if I had known him but now he is just a stranger in my dream.
Back in my bedroom, my second alarm goes off and I know it is time for my daily run. As I finish tying up my laces, I hear my father in the room next door begin to stir. I listen as he makes his way down the hallway and turns the coffee maker on. By the time I emerge from my bedroom, iPod in hand, he is already sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in front of him and a mug of steaming hot coffee in his hand.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” My Dad greets before returning his attention back to the newspaper.
The sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon when I take my first few steps at a slow jog, the roads are practically abandoned, save for the one or two people who for some reason go to work at six in the morning, and a cool breeze rustles the leaves on the trees.
My favourite place to run to is a small, secluded stream, approximately five kilometres from my house. There is a small clearing before it reaches the cool water that bubbles over rocks. There, it is quiet and a great place to come and think, however as I sit there today I swear I can feel someone watching me. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and goose bumps rise along my arms.
I glance around me but nobody else is here, nobody usually is. Not many people know of this place, even though for some people, it is right on their doorstep.
The feeling eventually leaves; I glance at my watch and am shocked to see it is already seven o’clock, half an hour until the bus leaves for school… crap.
When I cross the road and enter our front yard, my father is standing in the doorway, peering around for me. Instantly, he spots me and blows out a sigh of relief. “You’re late again, you have ten minutes until the bus arrives and I can’t drive you today, I have to leave for work now.”
I take a better look at my father, who is tall and lanky with my coloured eyes and blonde hair, and notice that he is already dressed in his work clothes – button down shirt and black slacks. He sells estates for a living, meaning that sometimes he has to work with the client’s times rather than his own.
He steps forward and brushes a kiss against my forehead before whispering goodbye to me.
For a moment, I remember the way my mother used to do that, kiss me on the cheek or the forehead goodnight. My mother was very much like me, determined, pretty and energetic. Unfortunately, she died six years ago, when I was ten from breast cancer. Ever since, it’s just been my father and I, which is the way I like it.
On days like these, when I’m running late and have to somehow shower, get dressed and have breakfast in ten minutes, or maybe five now, I tend to have many dilemmas. I have never quite understood how someone can possibly have a two minute shower when I’m used to having showers that last for at least twenty minutes. My uniform, thanks to the gigantic pile of clothes on my bedroom floor, is nowhere to be seen, no doubt at the very bottom. For at least a good ten minutes, I stare in the completely full fridge and cupboard searching for something to eat.
My school uniform isn’t too bad looking but it isn’t the best. I guess it is okay for a public school. The uniform of King Claw High consists of a blouse that is white with brown stripes and brown skirt that might as well go to your ankles.
By the time I am running across my lawn towards the bus station, I know I am already late by ten minutes, however it seems like the odds are in my favour when I see the bus still waiting patiently. I sigh in relief and slow my pace to a fast walk. However as I draw closer to the bus, I see the bus’s indicator switch on.
“No!” I cry as I begin to run as fast as I can. I stop running and sigh in defeat as I watch the bus pull away from the curb, unaware of its missing passenger. “Dammit,” I whisper under my breath and begin the long trek to school.